


Blood and Ink

by TophsLegacy



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angst, Banter, Bumbleby Week 2020 (RWBY), F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Lots of characters are mentioned, Organized Crime, but since they don't show up, descriptions of blood and injuries, just a dash of, no tags for them, nothing crazy though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TophsLegacy/pseuds/TophsLegacy
Summary: Bumbleby Week Prompt: Tiger/DragonThis is an organized crime au, featuring Tattoo Artist Yang and Mobster BlakeCredit toEruGhostCatfor the idea of a mobster au and a massive thank you for collaborating with me on this project.They did a BEAUTIFUL piece of art for this prompt that is connected to this fic, you can find it -HEREBlake wonders to herself what stories lay below the ink. If they are stories of freedom and expression, or if they are born of something darker. The ink sinking into her own skin is a testament to servitude, a brand of duty, shackles that bind her - even if she chooses them.She looks at the soft curve of the small smile on Yang’s face and hopes the art she bore on her skin is a reflection of liberation.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 12
Kudos: 106





	Blood and Ink

They call it earning your stripes. Members can’t be members with clean hands, proving oneself is key. Disappoint and face the wrath of the great Sienna Khan. Getting in is easier than she thought it would be, proving herself is a little more challenging, but it will all be worth it. It has to be. 

Adam is very clear about her instructions, repeating the address multiple times before he trusts her to remember it. 

_‘When you get there, you have to ask for the Dragon of the West and when they ask you why you say-”_

_“The tiger's stripes bleed red. I heard you the first time.”_

She ignores the sneer on his face, he wears it so often it’s lost its potency. She knows the real danger lurks in his self-satisfied smirk, the joy he takes in other people’s pain. She’s thankful that her path is so different from his; as she climbs the ladder, he’ll stay in his place. The distance can’t come soon enough, she thinks to herself. 

The shop looks like every other tattoo parlor Blake has ever seen. It’s unassuming, the plain beige stucco exterior bears a sign that says only the word ‘tattoo’ in all caps, nestled between a smoke shop and a ‘1.50 Scoop’ Chinese restaurant. The normality of it is a little unsettling. 

Once she’s inside she greets the receptionist, says the code, tries not to laugh at how silly it sounds. The young man leads her to the back of the shop and motions to a black curtain, turning around to leave before Blake can take a step towards it. 

Pushing through the curtain she finds a single tattoo station, as well as a wall filled with framed artwork. She hesitates near the front of the room while she looks around, not sure what she is supposed to do. 

The woman inside sits leisurely on a couch at the back of the room, “You look a little lost.” 

Her ears twitch at the sudden noise, “I assure you, I am exactly where I need to be.” The words come out gruffer than she’d meant them to. Most interactions she has these days require a front of strength, a show of force. 

The woman shrugs, letting a smirk curl at her lips as she locks eyes with Blake, “Feisty. What can I do for you?” 

“I’m here for The Fang. Step one.” 

The woman is hard to read, especially knowing her reputation. She was expecting the person responsible for tattooing every member of The Fang to be a little...meaner, maybe? It’s hard to say, but there will be plenty of time for her to figure it out. 

She moves to her station, adjusting the chair into a sitting position and pulling an armrest in front of her, “Take a seat.” 

Blake sits, rests her arm on the padded surface while she looks around the room a little more. On second glance, the artwork on the far end of the wall catches her eye. Most of the wall is covered in framed sketches, paintings, art done by the tattoo artist, she assumes. But the other pieces are mechanical, detailed, intricate - blueprints, she realizes. Odd. 

The woman grips her elbow gently and lifts her arm, running a cool rag across her skin and setting it back down. She pulls her tool tray closer, lifting the stencil and placing it on Blake’s arm. She holds in place and pats it down before pulling the paper away, leaving behind clear outlines for her to follow. 

“Have you ever been tattooed before?” She asks, holding her tattoo gun at the ready. 

“Never got around to it,” she says, aiming for nonchalance. Since starting this life she’s been in a fair share of scuffles. Blood blooming under her skin was something she’s learned to live with, but she can’t say she is too keen on exposing nerves to needles. Not that there is any turning back at this point. 

“This might take a while. So if you need a break, just let me know.” 

“I’ll be fine.” She can hear the apparition in her own voice and she knows the woman hears it too. 

“I’m going to start at the top and work my way down, the closer I get to your hand the more it’s going to hurt.” She says with a look of concern that’s deeper than it ought to be. “It’s okay to take a break, even your bosses do from time to time.” 

She nods, trying not to clench her fist as the tattoo gun gets closer to her skin. She is going to have to get used to this. Tattoos are a sign of rank in The Fang, and she needs to get to the top to figure out who took away what she loved most in this world. 

Once the gun breaks skin she relaxes, sinking into the chair with a little more ease. The vibrations create a different sensation than she expects. It doesn’t hurt. On some of the passes she feels a pinprick, but it’s gone so fast she doesn’t have the time to react. She can only hope it continues to be this tolerable as the needle travels down her arm. 

She isn’t expecting much conversation, but the curiosity about the operation this woman has going is too strong to contain. She is interesting and Blake can’t figure out why she’s so invested in learning more. 

“So how does your boss feel about you running a shady side business out of the backroom?” 

“Oh sweetheart, does it look like I answer to someone? This shop is mine.” She says with a smirk so sharp it could kill a man, “Well, the building is owned by a shell company, for obvious reasons.” She winks before looking down to continue her work. 

“Smart.” 

“I’m not all right brain, as much as people assume.” She scoffs, moving her face closer to Blake’s arm to get a better look at something, she continues, “It doesn’t hurt to have crime run in the family either, at least, not when it comes to learning the tricks of the trade.” 

There is too much wrapped up in her own family history to say a word without letting the emotion swell, so Blake stays quiet. She looks down at the woman, the look of concentration on her face so much softer than what she’s used to. It’s hard to reconcile the nickname with the person sitting in front of her.

“Dragon of the West, huh?” Blake asks, she has to flex her legs to not move her arm as the needles travel lower, now working over more nerve and bone than muscle. 

“Well, in your line of work, do you use your real name?” She counters, eyebrows lightly knit in concentration, gaze locked on the ink she’s etching into Blake’s skin. 

“I’m rarely anywhere long enough for anyone to learn it, even if I want them to.” She scoffs, it’s a price she’s willing to pay for answers, even if the journey is a lonely one. 

“Mysterious, I’ll give you that. Mine’s not that deep if you think about it,” She runs a rag over Blake’s arm to clear the extra ink away for her next pass, “Shop’s on the west side of town and well the rest is pretty obvious.” 

“Subtlety is an art you know.” 

“So is all of this.” The woman takes a moment to gesture towards herself. Making a point of the tattoos that ran from just under her ear down her chest and arms to her fingers. 

Blake lets her eyes follow her hand. There was so much detail on every inch of skin, she isn’t sure if she can take it all in on a single glance. 

The dragon motif is clear, a large claw and scales wrap around her neck connecting to flames that flicker across her chest. Dragons wrap themselves around each of her well muscled arms, one resting its head on a large flaming rose, the other disappearing under her tank top. The nitrile gloves she wears cover some but not all of the mechanical tattoo that travels up her forearm into a skyline washed by a setting sun. 

Blake wonders to herself what stories lay below the ink. If they are stories of freedom and expression, or if they are born of something darker. The ink sinking into her own skin is a testament to servitude, a brand of duty, shackles that bind her - even if she chooses them. 

She looks at the soft curve of the small smile on Yang’s face and hopes the art she bore on her skin is a reflection of liberation. 

“If you stare at me any harder I might catch fire.” She says with a chuckle, still focused on running the vibrating needles over Blake’s arm, “It’s okay. You aren’t the first I’ve busted for looking. I’ll take it as a compliment.” 

Blake clears her throat, “Just appreciating the artwork.” 

Heat grows on her cheeks only now realizing how her words could be taken. In her haste to look away she thinks she sees the woman flex one of her biceps slightly at the comment, which does not help the heat blooming on her face. 

“So are all of these your work?” She asks, flicking her head towards the frames on the wall.

“Most of them, the one’s at the end are my sisters.” She says, not looking up to confirm, “Can’t exactly keep a picture of her around, so her drafts are the next best thing.” 

“Drafts? Those look pretty finished to me.”

“Not that kind of draft. She’s a mechanical engineering student. Drafting is what they call drawing when it’s all, y’know, fancy and shit.” Without the smile that comes to her face with the words, the statement might seem dismissive, but it’s filled to the brim with admiration. 

Blake strains her eyes to look at the individual frames, “They seem very detailed.” 

Her smile only grows as she speaks, “Yeah. She tends to go a little overboard with her projects, or, that’s what her professors tell her anyway.” 

“You sound very involved.” Blake can’t help but smile too, she misses having someone like that in her life. 

“We’re close.” 

It’s all a little surreal if she thinks about it. How effortless the conversation is, how there’s a strange aching in her chest that screams, _you know her_ , how much she wants to give in to the lighthearted stories. It all terrifies her. Shakes her to her core, this is not part of the plan. So she tries not to identify the rest of the feelings floating around them, doesn't pluck the strings in the air that may or may not tether their souls. 

Blake flinches as the needle passes over the nerves in her hand. Pain has always been what connects to her reality, so it seems fitting that this is what brings her back into the moment. 

“You good?” The woman asks, taking the moment to wipe the extra ink away. Tugging at the skin makes it worse but it isn't worth mentioning. 

“Could be worse. Not like I can turn back at this point anyway.” She says, curling her toes to try to find some kind of relief, distraction from the sting radiating from the back of her hand. 

“Would you?” The woman asks softly, “Would you leave this life if you could?” 

“No.” She says entirely too quickly. She sighs and looks back at her own hand. When she speaks again it is even, full of restraint and resignation, “No, this is the life I have chosen. I need to do this.” 

The woman nods, looking down and resuming her work with a look that could only be described as solemn. 

She doesn’t ask for a break. Even though she really wants to. It is so close to being finished, there’s no point in dragging it out, she tells herself with clenched teeth and tense muscles. When the woman pulls the tattoo gun away for the last time she takes her first steady breath in what feels like too long, stretching to confirm she hasn’t turned to stone. 

The woman wraps her arm, tells her all the steps to aftercare, asks her to take care of herself in a tone that reminds her of a voice she hasn’t heard in years. She’d be sad if she wasn’t so caught up in the moment. 

The woman giggles as she sits back in her chair, “Next time remind me to tell you the story about my sister bringing home not one, but three stray dogs in a single day.” 

“Aren’t you concerned about telling me things about yourself?” Blake asks, there is an expected level of anonymity after all and she doesn’t want to cross a line. Even if it feels like they buried that line ten minutes into the session. 

“Well, if you are as committed to this life as you say you are, we’ll be seeing each other often enough. I wouldn’t mind a new friend.” Even though her words drip with sarcasm, the sincerity on her face seems genuine. 

“Oh, I am,” She says, trying to bury the indignation that came with her search for answers, it’s her burden to bear, “Until next time, friend.” 

They nod in unison, slow, like they knew what they’d just agreed to. They didn’t, not yet, the flicker of a flame yet to burn. She pushes through the curtain and forces herself not to look back. 

\--

Months go by, she goes back to the shop a few times, always the same enjoyable push and pull between them. It’s the most pleasantly consistent thing in her life. She starts to look forward to it. The thought of it becomes a wonderful distraction from the immoral acts she commits to earn the visits, but it doesn’t stop the guilt from settling into her bones. 

Months and months of the same routine. Shaking down other criminals isn’t that difficult, but she questions every decision she’s ever made on missions that put civilians at risk. The early days are spent doing the rounds, collecting protection money, chasing off competition. 

The mission that grants her this latest promotion is a test, something to raise the stakes. She didn’t have to kill the man, but some acts are worse than taking a life. Sleep comes sporadically after that. When she closes her eyes, his often stare back at her. Her nerves and patience are ragged, fraying at the edges. It sets her teeth on edge most days, but this is what it’s going to take and she’s already told herself she can’t run from it. 

Today’s visit to the shop will be a much-needed one, she thinks to herself as she parks out front. She doesn’t have the energy to keep up appearances today and part of her hoped that the woman inside could lift a small amount of her burden. Just a little bit, so she can rest. 

She doesn’t have to use the code anymore. She lets herself into the back area of the shop and pushes the curtain closed again, she takes a deep breath. She has to be at least a little composed to keep questions from her new friend's lips. 

She was lounging on her couch again, this time with her feet propped up on one of the armrests, scrolling on her phone with her other arm lazily hanging off the edge, grazing the floor with her fingers.

“So do you have other clients? Or do you just wait around for us all the time?” Blake asks, plopping down in the tattoo chair. 

The woman nearly drops her phone on her face and turns to look at the culprit that caused her near accident. She swings her body up so she’s sitting, leans forward with a smirk on her face, “I do take other clients. I just like to keep them as far away from your people as possible. Would you like me to lie to you and say I’ve been waiting on you all day?” 

Blake pulls her nails up to examine them, feigning indifference, “How do I know you haven’t lied to me this whole time? I don’t even know your real name, this could all be a front.” 

“Oh, it absolutely is.” She launches herself off the couch with the largest shit-eating grin on her face that Blake had ever seen, “I have to confess. I don’t even know how I got here, what’s a tattoo? Is this, like, an engraver or something?” She asks as she picks up her own tattoo gun, laughter straining against her muscles, she breaks. Her laugh is boisterous and Blake chuckles because it’s just so contagious. 

“Smartass,” she says with a small smile. This was what she needed. It feels like she’s known this woman her entire life. Blake knows she can count on her to be a bright spot in what feels like a sea of darkness. She ignores how she’s come to depend on it. She breathes a little easier here and that’s enough. Closing her eyes for the first time in what feels like weeks and not seeing piercing eyes staring back at her. 

“This one goes up to your shoulder, so that sleeve’s gotta go.” The woman sits next to her, holding an even larger stencil than the last. It’s going to be a long day. 

She’d gotten used to taking off her dress shirt before sitting down. Past sessions had started with quips from the woman about stripping that turned Blake’s face an embarrassing shade of red. She hangs her shirt on the wall and sits back down in the chair, settling back into their rhythm.

She props her arm on the armrest, “So what does the infamous Dragon of the West do for fun when she’s not asking people if they want to be lied to?” 

“Well, she tends not to put up with such sass from anyone other than her sister, for starters.” The woman scoffs as she presses the stencil onto Blake’s skin. 

The pause she takes to set up her equipment is comfortable, they’d learned to share silence, it was so easy that Blake didn’t even notice at first, but has come to appreciate it as much as their conversations.

“It’s not that exciting if I am being perfectly honest.” She admits, starting to run the tattoo gun over Blake’s arm like she has so many times now, “I keep a decent friend group to go out to bars and hang out with every once in a while, but none of them really know me very well. It’s easier like that. I get judged at first sight most of the time anyway, no reason to give people more information to misunderstand.” 

“That’s...surprisingly relatable.” Blake says, making a point to swivel her ears a little. 

The woman glances up at her, gives her a small nod, and continues with her work.

“I have a responsibility to keep my family safe. It’s a lot more doable when I keep business separate, y’know?” 

“Didn’t you say your mom is a career criminal?” Blake says it without thinking, too caught up in watching her work to stop the errant thought from breaking into the air. 

“She is.” The woman doesn’t look up from her work. The rest of her words are measured, but raw with honesty, “I only see her when she needs something from me, which luckily isn’t that often. My sister is better off without her around and I don’t have the patience for Raven that I used to.” 

“That sounds a little lonely, just the two of you.” Investing in her own loneliness is too difficult, even in good company. She focuses on the vibrations on her arm, slowly making their way up to her shoulder and tries to ignore how the lack of sleep is starting to catch up with her. 

“Not really. I mostly hang out with my sister and spend time at home if I have the choice.” Her voice is softer now, “She always has enough energy to make the mundane things fun, so I don’t really need anything else.” 

The idea of having a person like that in life makes her heart ache. The fatigue sets in all at once, refusing to be ignored. Her eyes sting and her shoulders feel heavy with all that she’s carried since she started her journey. She lets her eyelids fall closed, hoping for some kind of relief. 

“And how about you, what do you do for fun?” The woman asks, still smiling from her own recollections. 

She can lie. She considers it, but she’s just so tired. For some reason she doesn’t understand, sitting in front of this woman that has been nothing but open and honest with her, she can’t make herself care to be anything less. She feels safe and that was so rare these days.

Without opening her eyes, Blake musters a small smirk, “This is going to sound entirely too broody, but I don’t really do fun anymore.”

“You’re right, it does.” The woman chuckles, “There has to be something.” 

“Not for me. Not right now at least.”

The woman stops her work, quirks an eyebrow instead, “Alright buzzkill, I’ll bite, what’s so important that has you brooding in the middle of my shop?” 

“We’re friends, right?” 

“Of course.” 

Blake has a realization that gives her pause, “Do you tell that to all of my coworkers or just the ones you’re supposed to report back to Sienna about?” 

Even in trying to protect herself, she feels guilty because when she opens her eyes upon not getting a response, the look of betrayal on the woman's face makes her regret every word. 

“That’s not my gig and even if it was - that’s not what this is.” 

Blake grips the ring hanging from her neck, the only anchor in a sea of uncertainty, as the woman continues. 

It’s almost panicked in the way her words pick up speed as she speaks,“Honestly, I don’t even know your name, but I have told you way more about my life than I should and that’s not-”

“It’s Blake.” It’s the least she can offer and it’s everything she wants to give in the moment. 

She breathes out, “Yang. Nice to meet you,” The anxiety draining from her features with the new information. 

Blake smiles. She’s still tired, her problems are still resting at the back of her mind, _but they are finally resting_. “Meet doesn’t feel like the right word.” she says, the air in her lungs feels lighter, easier to breathe. 

Yang laughs a little. “You’re telling me.” 

The red that stains both of their cheeks is left entirely unaddressed. They are too close together, she’s too tired to filter and they are in the middle of something that has nothing to do with either of them as individuals. 

It sets in as Yang starts to sink lines of ink into her skin again. Now is not the time for this, but she can be honest one more time before letting it go. 

Their faces are still close together, they have to be for Yang to finish inking her shoulder, so Blake’s words are soft, weighted with the expectation of secrecy, “Sienna has information I need and there’s only one way for me to get it.”

“Never known a problem that only had one way of being solved.” It’s an opening, not an offer, a door cracked, but not swung. 

“I have to do this alone, it’s too dangerous to get anyone else involved.” She wishes it could be different, but it never will be. She’d seen enough to know what the end will hold. Nobody needs to take that journey with her. 

Yang nods with resigned sadness in her eyes, “I see.”

There’s tension in the silence that fills the room as Yang continues her work. She ran out of things to say and any questions about Yang felt like an intrusion now that Blake had closed herself off. So she listens to the buzz of the machine and the idle sounds of people working beyond the curtain, trying not to let exhaustition take her into the darkness of fitful sleep. 

When she opens her eyes again Yang is wrapping her arm, any trace of a smile long gone. She keeps a light grip on Blake’s upper arm, somber and soft, “This life is going to rip you apart from the inside out if you let it, Blake.” 

“I’m not weak.” It’s a reassurance for herself as much as Yang, the climb to the top has taken such a toll. She wants to pull away to make a point, but the way Yang holds her is something she can’t give up just yet. 

“No, but you have a conscience.” Blake swallows the lump that starts to form in her throat, there are too many emotions in Yang’s eyes to interrupt, “You don’t have to do it alone. I don’t know what you are looking for, but I can help.” 

She gently grips one of Yang’s hands, giving it a squeeze before pulling it away from her own arm, “This is my burden. Until next time, Yang.” 

She takes her shirt from the wall and slips her arms into the sleeves, not taking the time to button it before she pushes through the curtain. She forces herself not to look back, if she does she might lose her resolve to leave at all. 

\--

She really needs to invest in a security camera. Rarely did people bang on her door at two in the morning, but when they do she really should know who’s there before opening the door. For now she grabs one of her wakizashi by the scabbard and walks to the door. By the time she gets there the knocks have gotten weaker, farther apart. 

Pulling the door open reveals a sight that takes more than a few seconds to process. It’s Yang. The only way she’s able to tell for sure are her tattoos, because half of her face is swollen and dripping with blood that runs down her neck and soaks into her shirt. Her fingers are loosely wrapped around a pistol, while her other hand is propped against the door frame, seeming to be the only thing keeping her standing. 

“Yang…?” The last thing she notices are the tears mixing with the blood on Yang’s face. She has to stop looking after that because Yang collapses into her arms, body slack and motionless. 

Her sword clatters to the floor in favor of using the same hand to close the door and lock it behind them. She manages to drag Yang a few feet to a dining room chair before her knees start to quiver. She’d taken time before to appreciate how muscular Yang is, but she hadn’t given much thought to how heavy it would make her to carry. 

She grips Yang's shoulder as she assesses her injuries, the last thing she needs right now is to flop out of the chair. The deep gash above her eye seems to be the source of most of the blood that ran down her face. Bruises are starting to form on both sides of her face from the crown of her head down to her chin in uneven blotchy patterns. The swelling around her eye and cheekbone look sickly up close. Whoever did this didn’t hold back, that’s for sure. 

It feels wrong to leave her alone, but the sooner she gets the supplies to patch Yang up the better off she’ll be. Blake tentatively removes her hand from her shoulder, making sure Yang won’t fall out of the chair while she is left unattended. 

Yang is still unconscious when she makes it back, head slumped forward, hands hanging limp at her sides. She’d look peaceful if her face wasn’t so swollen and bruised. The blood that stains her shirt has seeped even farther down the fabric in her absence. 

She pulls up another chair to mirror Yang’s, resting a damp rag and the first aid kit on the table next them. Cleaning her up won’t take long. The gash might take a few stitches, but there isn’t much she can do for the rest. She gently lifts Yang’s chin to look a little closer, grabbing the rag to start whipping away all the blood. 

Yang winces as the cloth is pressed against the gash on her eyebrow. Her eyes flutter open but she doesn’t break Blake’s grip on her chin. Her voice is gravely and thick when she finally speaks, “Hey, Blake.” 

Blake has to focus on her task to avoid thinking about how her name on Yang’s lips pulls at her insides. Like the Earth fighting gravity against the Sun. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Oh, I’m fine. Bit of a headache though.” The sarcasm does nothing to hide the fear in her eyes, doesn’t hide the quiver of her lip as she finishes saying the words. 

It hits Blake all at once in that moment. She cares about Yang. More than she should, more than she’d ever expected to. Seeing her bloodied and defeated fills Blake with a rage that she’s rarely felt. Her grip on Yang’s chin tightens as they lock eyes. She could feel the fire burning in her own irises and there is no way to stop it now. Holding back as much emotion as possible she asks through clenched teeth, “Who did this to you?” 

“He was one of Sienna’s. Redheaded bastard with a scar over his eye, jumped me with a few buddies. I could have kicked his ass on my own.” Yang tries to glare but stops abruptly with a flinch, reaching for the cut above her eye. 

Blake swats her hand away and starts to disinfect the cut. Adam was usually sent after people that didn’t pay debts, this didn’t make sense. “Why would Sienna send someone after you?” 

“Raven skipped town with money that didn’t belong to her.” She takes in a deep breath, when she opens her eyes again they are crimson and full of fury, “That asshole said we had to make it right. When I told him I didn’t have the money, one of his guys grabbed Ruby. It’s a little hazy after that, but I gave as good as I got.” Her hands start to shake in her lap so Blake steadies them with one of her own, “They still took her, said I’d get her back when Sienna gets what she’s owed.” 

“So you came to me.” 

“Yes. I did.” 

“Because you think I can reason with her?” She asks, at a loss to what Yang thinks she can do. Sienna is not someone to go against directly, the only way this is going to go anywhere is if they give her what she wants or something better. 

“No,” Yang pulls her hands away. Her eyes are lilac, but they are full of the same fury as before, “Because I know you need something from her and I am going to help you get it. I just need you to help me first.” 

“I told you I don’t want help. It’s too dangerous to have you involved.” She knows she’s already lost the argument, but she has to at least try to shield Yang, what little she can now.

Yang laughs, bitter and exhausted, “I’d say I’m pretty damn involved at this point, don’t you think?” 

She can’t deny it, can’t deny her, “Hey. We’re going to get your sister back. The rest we can figure out later.” 

“No. I’m not here for pity. I’m here to make a deal. We do this together.” The cut that Blake had sterilized picks this moment to open back up, she hands Yang the rag while she readies a needle and thread. 

“Fine, but I’m not helping you out of pity.” She sighs, this is long overdue, “They took my family too.” 

Yang holds the edge of the rag to the cut, waving off the needle, too invested to be bothered with her own issues, “What?”

Blake discards the needle and thread, “A few years ago.” Now holding the ring hanging from her neck for a little extra strength, an anchor to what was left of them, “My parents disappeared. Here one day and gone the next, no phone calls, no texts, not a single thing out of place in their house. Just gone.” 

Yang stares, her eyes flick down to the ring and back up, understanding clear in her eyes. 

“They’d been speaking out against The Fang. My dad started making moves to run for city council and mom was rallying neighbors to their cause. There were very few Faunus that were willing to speak openly against Sienna and her people. She didn’t like it.” 

The anger that had been in Yang’s voice before was completely gone, now seeped in concern, “If you know it was her, why go through all this effort to find out what happened?” 

She rests her hands in her lap, letting the ring rest warm against her chest. It feels so good to finally tell someone, the weight feels lighter, more manageable with another set of caring hands, “I have to know for sure. I need to know who helped her. I have to know how.” 

“Okay.” Yang says, cupping Blake’s hands with her own, “We’ll find out together.” 

Blake nods, “Together.” 

The journey ahead of them is terrifying and massive. They are going to walk into the tiger's mouth and demand the impossible. If they succeed they’ll have to figure out a secret that is so closely guarded only Sienna Khan herself knows the truth. It should make her want to sprint, run until her lungs burst and her legs give out. But it doesn’t. Not with Yang by her side. Hand in hand it feels like they can take on the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I am not a mobster or a tattoo artist, so if I got a few details wrong, I apologize.
> 
> Tumblr: [@letsseethroughdaphneblue](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/letsseethroughdaphneblue)


End file.
